Every Grace
by Lachesis Fatali
Summary: A rambling philosophical conversation between Vash and Wolfwood concerning the nature of evil in mankind.


"Every Grace"  
by Lachesis Fatali  
  
Taking morality in religion class this semester, and this idea occurred to me while we were talking about the origins of sin and death. Sin is responsible for death. Vash is immortal. The perfect philosophical conversation for a clueless Wolfwood ^^  
  
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"A belief in a supernatural force of good or evil is not necessary. Men alone are capable of every grace and every wickedness."  
-Joseph Conrad  
************  
  
"Do you believe in genetic evil?"  
  
The words carried surprisingly well even through the din of the Saturday night crowd. Wolfwood glanced up from his meal in mild surprise, the half-eaten steak and its assorted vegetables lying forgotten on his plate for the time being. "What?"  
  
"I said," Vash repeated, poking rather speculatively at his own meal, "Do you believe in genetic evil?"  
  
Wolfwood mulled it over for a few seconds, taking a slow slip of beer. "You mean if someone's born with a bastard for a father and a bitch for a mother, do they turn out a sociopathtic maniac?" He shrugged, a half smirk on his face. "I don't know, exactly. Never thought about it."  
  
The blond haired man eyed him silently with the same scrutiny he had just given his meal, pale blue eyes holding an unusually thoughtful air. "That's not what I meant."  
  
Wolfwood blinked amiably, returned to his meal with forced normalcy. "Then specify, Tongari."  
  
"Well..." he paused, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Do you believe in evil, first of all?"  
  
"Sure," was the almost flippant response, and automatic reaction. "I see enough of it. So do you."  
  
"Then you have to wonder, you just have to after all this time, where it comes from," Vash elaborated, looking faintly triumphant. He hadn't touched his meal yet, Wolfwood noticed with some unease. No even the chocolate pudding he'd allowed the gunman to buy before eating anything nutritious. Whatever was stirring underneath that needle-head, it was big.  
  
He abandoned his food in favor of a cigarette, lit with a hasty flick of his lighter, for a moment illuminating Vash's features in the relatively dark and smoky bar. He looked tired, Wolfwood noticed with some surprise, an unfamiliar weight upon his shoulders.  
  
He blew a ring of smoke into the air, glancing over at Vash who still sat watching him silently. He cleared his throat. "You ever go to church?"  
  
The man's eyes lit up with an almost childish happiness, for a moment returning to their familiar carefree naivete. "Yeah, once. A while back. I stopped in this small southern town for supplies, stayed the night at an abbey or something, and when I woke up they were having a service. It was all white and peaceful."   
  
Wolfwood mentally banged his head against the table settling in reality for rubbing his temples. Sometimes Vash was a little *too* much of a child. "I meant more along the lines of did you know anything about what it stands for. The beliefs."  
  
The gunman managed to look properly abashed. "Um... no, not really."  
  
"Okay then." The priest took a slow drag of his cigarette, deciding his own skewed version of events would have to do for an explanation. "Humans, in the beginning of it all, were created perfect. They never got killed, never tired, never got sick, and never died."  
  
Vash sat watching him with wide and ancient eyes, silent.   
  
"Then one day they went against one of God's decrees. Pissed the big guy off really bad." He mentally excused the simplified story, not sure if he wanted to hear all of Vash's questions about the more detailed version of events. "So God pit a flaw in them, something that we call original sin. Every human being after those first ones was born with the flaw on their soul. It let them think evil thoughts. It let them grow old. It let them die."  
  
Vash dropped his gaze from Wolfwood's face, idly glancing out over the crowd that filled the restaurant. "So you think it's true, then."  
  
If at all possible, Wolfwood was even more confused than before. If the gunman was usually obtuse, now he was being downright enigmatic. "It ain't nothing but a story. And even if it's true, it's got nothing to do with science and what you were talking about. Just the when, why, and how of human nature."  
  
He fiddled distractedly with a straw wrapper on the table. "But you're born like that. It's passed down from generation to generation. Like what I was talkin' about."  
  
Wolfwood laughed shortly. "Christ, Vash. It's an idea. A lie, at best. What the hell has got you so worked up?"  
  
Finally Vash looked back up at him, eyes dark and fathomless, fingers drumming on the table absentmindedly. "What if someone was born without the flaw?"  
  
For the second time that night, Wolfwood found himself totally without a response. "Beg your pardon?"  
  
"What if someone didn't have the little inkling towards evil," Vash continued, voice soft and breathless, almost as if he was afraid of what he was saying. "What if he didn't kill. He didn't get sick." The voice grew even softer, nearly imperceptible over the human din. "What if he didn't die?"  
  
"He'd be a fucking saint, then," Wolfwood responded heavily, leaning back into the booth with a frown. "Or a prophet. A messiah."  
  
If anything, Vash looked even more un-at-ease than before, flinching at his unconscious answer. "But then what happens to that flaw? If there's someone born without it, does that force someone else to be born with twice the burden?" His hands clenched on the edge of the table, knuckles white. "Just so one person won't die, so they can be holy, another one has to suffer."  
  
"Vash-" Wolfwood sighed, reaching over to pry one of the clenched fists off the table, feeling slightly better as if relaxed in his grasp, even though Vash would not look up. "It don't work like that. Never has. People are people, with every grace and every vice, and as messed up as it all seems, there's damnably good justice in the universe." For a moment, he ignored his own personal vindictive God theory, driven only to chase off the worry and fear that seemed so alien on Vash's features. "God ain't out to get us or anything."   
  
Vash looked up at him, with wide and trusting eyes.  
  
The whizz of bullets overhead, however, disturbed the moment.   
  
In a second, both he and Vash were under the relative cover of the table, guns cocked, identical maniacal grins on each of their faces.  
  
"Not out to get us," Vash chuckled, peering out around one of the chairs. "Yeah, right."  
  
Wolfwood grinned even wider in response, and threw himself into the fray.   
  
************  
  
Short, sweet, and with a point in there somewhere ^^ 


End file.
